


Hell's Kitchen

by Blue_Five



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon Derek Hale, Demonic Possession, Demons, M/M, Prompt Fic, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Spells & Enchantments, grimoire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-01 16:09:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15777513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Five/pseuds/Blue_Five
Summary: It was just supposed to be dinner.Based on this random prompt:  https://promptuarium.wordpress.com/2018/07/30/chicken-soup/





	Hell's Kitchen

In an explosion of dark maroon smoke, the demon lands with a hard, painful _thud_ on the floor of a – kitchen? He scrambles upright, immediately on the defense and in a very uncharitable mood toward whatever hedge mage took him mid-coitus with a rather delicious woman trading her body for a particular bit of vengeance on her family. Cowering against a boring white stove with a pot steaming quietly on it is a young man who looks like he’s about to drop dead of terror. The demon snarls and advances on the human.

"How," the demon demands with a fang-exposing sneer. “How were _you_ able to summon me?!?"

He feels the aftermath of magic usage in the room but it’s fading and the demon isn’t sure if it was done with intent or not. Judging from the horrified expression on the young man’s face, his presence was not expected. Still, better safe than sorry.

“ _Well?!?_ ” he roars.

The human looks like he’d crawl into the oven behind him given the chance. He shakes his head wildly.

"I don't know! You were supposed to be chicken soup!"

The demon stops abruptly.  "Chicken -- did you say 'chicken soup'?"

The human squeaks, "Yes!"

He waves at the cookbook thrown haphazardly on the island counter. Still growling, the demon stares down at the singed, smoking pages. He feels the human watching him as he skims over the handwritten pages. The demon frowns and his eyes snap up to spear the young man’s gaze. "This is written in old Polish."

A nod. "Uh, yeah ... my -- my mom's family is from Poland.  That's my great-grandmother's recipe book."

The demon snorts with an eyeroll. The young man looks affronted. “What?”

"It's not a cookbook, moron. It's a grimoire. This is a spell of Healing," the demon says. He frowns after a moment. "Although I don’t know why she’d add …" The demon’s long fingers trail over the strange script and he curses softly. He turns a startled gaze on the human and studies him closely. "Your great-grandmother was named Olesia?"

His host blinks, confused. "I think so? The pictures all have ‘Olee’ written on the back.”

The demon sighs heavily, palms flat on the counter and his head hung between his shoulders. "That bitch."

"Hey!  That's my great-grandma you're talking about!"

The demon decides he’s done with this day. He slams the book shut and snatches it up. Over his shoulder, he throws, “If the pointed hat fits ..."

"What? Hey, wait!  Where are you going?”

The demon ignores the human and looks around the living room before heading to the fireplace. With a flick of his fingers, he starts a blaze. Behind him, he hears a bleated, “No!"

The book sails into the fireplace but by the time it lands, the flames are gone. The demon grunts, confused, before he realizes what happened. He looks over his shoulder at the man who is making his life a misery today and waves his hand at the fireplace. The flames burst into being again only to die just as quickly when the kid slices his hand sharply through the air.

"Stop that!" the demon demands.

"You stop it!” the human retorts.

They trade gestures again, glaring at one another as they do so and the demon notices that the young man’s eyes dance with amber lightning. He groans and runs a hand down his face. Naturally. His day gets better with every passing moment.

"Of _course_ you're a Spark."  He sighs.  "Fine.  Take it. Stupid, meddling witches."

The cookbook/grimoire floats gently into the human’s hands. He hugs it protectively and points at the door with a dark frown.

"Dude, you can leave anytime. Sorry, I guess, for pulling you outta Hell.”

The demon chuckles.  "Yeah, about that ..." He walks over and flops into an armchair.  "You summoned me so I'm kind of stuck here."

"Wait, what?"  The young man's eyes widen.  "I didn't _mean_ to summon you.  I was just trying to make --"

"Chicken soup," the demon finishes.

"Exactly!  Chicken soup!" the human protests.  "Not chicken soup with a side of demonic presence!"

The demon gives a grim chuckle and leans his head back.  "And yet, here I am."

The kid sinks slowly in onto his sofa.  He looks down at the cookbook/grimoire and traces the lettering on the front.  A frown creases his forehead.  "Wait, if that was a healing spell, how the hell did I summon _you_ with it?"

The demon sighs.  "I didn't say it was a healing spell ... I said it was a spell of Healing."

"Ok, are _you_ hearing a difference because I--"

"Satan save me."

The demon looks up when he hears pages being flipped.  "Ok, that's it.  I'm done.  Where's the spell to send you back?  Is it one of the desserts you have to like set on fire?  Crème brulee?  Baked Alaska?"

The book goes zipping across to the demon who grabs it out of the air.  He grips it tighter against the Spark's attempt to pull it back.  He gives a faint sigh and holds up his hand.

"Truce, ok?  Let's start over.  I'm Derek."

"Derek the Demon?  Cute."

"Kid, I can tear your throat out with my teeth," Derek says, his smile revealing very sharp fangs. "Can you stow the snark for five minutes?"

"Not according to my dad," the human responds.  He holds out his hand.  "Give me back the book."

Derek eyes him warily but eventually the book settles in the Spark's grip again.  Derek gestures _go ahead_ at his reluctant companion.

"I'm Stiles."

The demon instantly wraps his consciousness around the appellation.  It's with no little irritation that he feels no sense of the human attached to it.  He glares.

"That's not your real name."

Stiles smirks.  "No, but if I give you my real name then you've got me by the short hairs, don't you?"

Derek falls silent and then nods.  "Good boy."

"And if you think I'm gonna continue this while you're sitting there with your bits hanging out - on my _sofa_ , dude! -- you got another think coming.  Put some pants on!"

Derek grins.  He snaps his fingers and abruptly he's wearing black jeans, a black t-shirt and black work boots.  His jeans and shirt are tight in just the right spots to emphasize his chosen form to its fullest.  Derek doesn't miss the hard swallow from Stiles. 

"Are you _sure_ you want me clothed?"

Stiles opens and closes his mouth a few times before shaking his head.  "Y-yes!"  He glares at Derek.  "Yes, I'm sure.  You're not that hot."

"But I'm kind of hot?"

"What?  No .. you're not!"

"I'm not hot?"

Stiles groans. "Are you always this impossible?"

Derek's eyes gleam red with something other than menace.  "When I've got a delectable morsel like you in front of me?  Hell, yeah."

"Delect -- you mean you --"

Derek opens his legs in invitation.  "I'm sure we can come to an arrangement that will be mutually enjoyable."

"I'm not having sex with a demon!" Stiles barks. 

"Methinks he doth protest too much," Derek grins.  "You want this and you know it.  I can smell it on you."

"Oh gods," Stiles groans, head falling into his hands.  "I can't take anymore today."

Derek chuckles right next to Stiles' ear.  With a yelp, Stiles jumps and tries to move away but Derek snaps his fingers again.  Stiles finds himself pressed into his own mattress sans clothes.  Derek is again naked.  Stiles shoves uselessly at the broad chest.

" _Dude!_   No means no!  Haven't you ever heard of consent?  I --"

The words die in Stiles' throat when Derek brushes his lips over the sensitive skin on Stiles' neck.  He knows exactly how to twist a human's desires so that they will eventually act against even their most deeply held resolve.  He's never been too particular about who, where or when; an opportunity presented is one he intends to take.  Stiles thrusts up and Derek feels that the human's body is into things even if the mind behind it is a bit reluctant. Derek grins down at him.

"That's it ... you know you want it ... just let go ..."  Derek trails his tongue down to an erect nipple and lightly flicks it.

Stiles moans softly and blindly seeks out Derek's mouth in a full-on devouring kiss.  The demon finds his advances met with a delightful and unexpected heat.  It's been a while since he was with a human male but Derek has always appreciated the inherent _hardness_ of the male form and Derek has to admit his unlikely master is lovely in that respect.  Derek thinks that his day is definitely shaping up to be far more enjoyable that he expected.  Of course, as with his current prey, it sometimes takes a little 'nudge' to convince a human they want him.  Again, he's grateful for his usurping skills and slides into Stiles' mouth a little farther.

Derek grunts when he feels Stiles' teeth nip his lower lip.  He tastes blood.  It doesn't bother him, really - he's just surprised.  _Always the quiet ones,_ he thinks.

When Derek pulls back to tease the human, Stiles smirks up at him with eyes black as pitch.  Too late, Derek realizes he's paralyzed, frozen into position.  Stiles' tongue sinfully laps up the blood from the bite.  He slides his fingertips over Derek's bearded jaw. 

A voice that definitely isn't Stiles says, "You haven't changed a _bit."_

A low growl emerges from Derek.  He's been had and he knows it.  "You _bitch_."

Pain sears along Derek's mortal nerve-endings.  He falls to one side and Stiles moves to straddle him.  The darkness swirling in the human's gaze unnerves Derek.  A single finger waggles in front of his eyes.

"Manners, little demon.  You remember what happened the last time."

"Your _grandson_ , Olesia?" Derek hisses.

" _Great-great grandson_ and yes.  The little darling is more powerful than I could have ever _dreamed_ of being," the hollow voice laughs.  "Fortunately, he's also just as clueless."

"If he's so powerful, how did you break his defenses?" Derek asks.

Olesia sneers.  "He had no idea of his potential -- little fool loves to solve puzzles.  He likes to play detective so it wasn't that hard to manipulate the Book to be a question he had to answer.  He left a door open and I just walked on through."

"And me?" Derek asks.

Olesia/Stiles trails a finger along his abused lip.  "Oh you ... you _never_ should have cast me aside, Derek.  We could have been so great together."

Derek's lip curls in a silent snarl.  "You murdered my entire family -- burned them _alive_.  Then you tore my soul from my body!"

Olesia/Stiles' fingers crook into claws and slowly, painfully drag down Derek bearded cheek.

"Mmm, yes, lover.  I gave you freedom from that tiresome conscience of yours.  Freedom to do whatever you wanted ... and you chose to slit my throat and leave me to die, as you recall."

Derek growls.  "Guess it didn't work."

Olesia/Stiles laughs.  "No but now I've got all the time in the world to repay you, handsome.  By the time I'm done, you'll be begging me to kill you -- but you can't die anymore, can you?"

The discordant female laugh bubbles up from Stiles' chest.  Derek tries uselessly to move but he can't.  And his body is beginning to respond to the way Olesia/Stiles is rubbing against him.

"Oh yes ... that's the rhythm, isn't it, lover?  I have to admit, being in a male body is ... different but I think I'll rather enjoy being on top."

Derek growls again only to be met with laughter.  "You didn't think I was going to let _you_ control things, did you lover?  Oh no ... I'm going to find out just what my dear great-great-grandson's body is capable of ... and then I'm going to end you.  Permanently." She drags her claws down his chest, bringing up long bleeding welts.  "If you cooperate, I'll make it pleasant, Derek.  Promise."

Derek opens his mouth, intending to spit in Olesia/Stiles' face consequences be damned when a violent twitch contorts the facial features above him.  For a second the young man's face seems to shift -- it doesn't really change but somehow Derek knows that Olesia isn't in control anymore.  A clear-eyed gaze looks at Derek and a hoarse male voice warns, "Close your eyes."

Feeling floods into Derek's limbs like a million stabbing needles and he throws himself off the bed to land hard on the floor.  The demon is no stranger to supernatural powers but he's in his mortal form which means he can be damaged.  Derek curls up and covers his head.  For a long time he waits but the silence that follows is so deep that Derek's nerves get the better of him.  He peeks.

The slender, muscled frame Derek admired only a short time ago slowly arches backwards on the mattress until the tips of Stiles' toes and the top of his head are all that touch the bed.  Derek winces at the cracking muscles and vertebrae.  A sound ... a howl, actually ... breaks free from whatever Hell Stiles is trapped within.  Derek claps his hands over his ears and presses his forehead to the floor in agony.  The wave of energy that blasts over him singes his back.  The house quakes on its foundation and the howl turns into a wail that climbs the register until Derek is screaming along with it.  Just as suddenly as it began, the scream stops and a thick quiet falls over the room.  Derek's ears ring as he slumps to one side and looks up to see Stiles standing beside the bed facing a devastatingly beautiful spirit made of bone-white mist.  Olesia is as lovely as Derek remembers her.  He stands up and the shade reaches out to him.

"Please Derek ... remember what we had ..."

Derek crosses his arms over his chest and studies the pale features that look like carved marble.  Olesia's eyes fill with phantom tears as she gazes pleadingly at Derek.  The demon snorts dismissively.

"He's a _Spark_ , Olesia.  A Spark and of your bloodline.  He just exorcised  _himself_ and you think  _I'm_ going to stop him?  Better yet, what makes you think I  _would_ stop him?"

The angelic face twists into a leering skull with patches of rotting hair clinging to it.  It lunges at Derek who back steps quickly.  The melodic voice disintegrates into something more appropriate for the grave.

"You'll never come back, demon!  I'll _kill_ you for this!  I'll send your --"

"Olee?" Stiles says quietly.  The specter swirls around as if remembering that Stiles was still in the room.  He regards her steadily.  "Shut the fuck up."

Stiles' hand snaps out to punch through the shade's form.  Olesia screams and comes apart in tendrils that gradual disintegrate like smoke.  Stiles wavers on his feet and Derek barely manages to catch the young man when he crumples.

* * *

Derek flips through the grimoire while he watches Stiles sleep.  The demon wonders how open Stiles is going to be about having a hellspawn living in his house.  With Olesia dead and eternally offline, neither of them can ask what spell she used to drag and trap Derek in this plane.  Still, Derek thinks as he closes the book -- it's going to be interesting figuring that out with the Spark.  In fact, Derek smiles to himself, there are a  _lot_ of things he intends to figure out with Stiles.


End file.
